


the secret in their eyes

by Anonymous



Series: the home boys [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Established Relationship, M/M, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 02:12:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8426914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Zhenya jolted out of his bed, the same feeling you have when you’re asleep and you feel like falling. He just lied there, not moving, almost afraid of doing so. There wasn’t a movie that had a similar plot?





	

**Author's Note:**

> so i have a +8k fic of these dorks too but i wanted to write something for halloween, so here it is. a warning: there's a **temporal character death** and mentions of **death**. it's okay, i promise i didn't kill anyone _that_ bad. 
> 
> happy halloween everyone! be safe tonight!!

Zhenya jolted out of his bed, the same feeling you have when you’re asleep and you feel like falling.

He looked around the room in silence, noticing the morning light coming in softly through the curtains that he forgot to close last night. From the other side of the bed came a gentle snore, Zhenya turned quietly and saw Sidney was there, sleeping with his back at him.

Sidney only slept like that when he was upset and Zhenya couldn’t really blame him; they had a discussion last night that boiled into something else entirely, to the point that it was scary because that wasn’t really them, that wasn’t, that–

Sidney has always been the type of person that can get the best out of you.

In time to time, he could also get the worst.

You could ask anyone that had played against him, for sure.

But, he could get the worst out of his loved ones.

The tension between them had been growing up in the past weeks. Maybe it was because they were having a bad losing streak, but it wasn’t that they were _just_ losing: they were playing like _shit_. Not only himself, but, Phil, Tanger, Flower _,_ even _Sid_ , they were all lost in their own heads and not thinking about the game.

The worst part about it was that it was affecting their relationship, Sid and Zhenya’s.

They were drifting away, trying to soak the losses in their own matters but it has hard –it was _tiring_. They barely talked outside of hockey and Zhenya wondered why he even started this relationship with Sidney. He didn’t remember how Sidney’s soft touches felt, how his laugh echoed louder on _their_ bedroom, how there were smiles that were only his, and–

They became two planets rotating differently from each other, getting closer and closer.

Zhenya knew that they were going to collide at some point.

He just didn’t imagine it in this way.

The morning was tense, everything was tense, the words, the touches, the expressions, the movements, it was making Zhenya crazy and he just snapped. He didn’t remember what started the discussion, he didn’t exactly remember what he was thinking because rage and frustration was blinding him, he was so _blind_ and–

Their screaming kept echoing on Zhenya’s head, repeating over and over again like a tune he couldn’t really remember the lyrics to, but just a few words: _we should end this_. The flashing of Sidney’s tearful light brown eyes kept appearing on his mind along with the sound of his voice, shaking and cracking, when he screamed at him _fuck off_ with such venom that Zhenya felt he should check for any cuts.

He didn’t look back before walking through the back door because he was afraid of seeing Sid’s tears fall. More so, he was afraid to acknowledge that he was the one who cause them, and he was sure that if he saw Sidney’s broken expression, his own tears would fall.

The front door closing was loud even on the back of the house.

He cried, minutes later, he cried ugly tears on his hands, hiding away in the woods in the backward.

If there was tension before, now it was off the charts.

Zhenya felt somewhat thankful that they were playing against the Capitals at home, so he could escape as soon as the game finished. He wanted this over. Maybe that wasn’t the right mindset when you were buried on your own head, not scoring and not doing any good to the team, but he needed time to cool off.

This wasn’t going to be _the_ game, but at least he would try.

Flower was shooting looks at him from his stall, with Tanger sitting next to him, as if he just knew telepathically what had happened between him and Sid (and he probably knew, at some degree). Zhenya didn’t want to look back at him.

Everyone else was trying to ignore him, at least it felt like it, and he kept looking around the room. Phil was talking to Hags and Horny under the doorway towards the offices, Bonino was talking to Duper in hushed voices, stick on his hand, but Zhenya doubted it was equipment related questions.

At some point, Phil found himself manhandled into the floor with Hags and Horny over him. Their laughs were loud and painfully cheerful on the locker room, Tanger and Flower’s joining along, but they didn’t last long.

A few moments later, they heard that Sidney was being scratched off.

It wasn’t that Mike appeared and told them who was going to wear the third A, but the heated discussion that happened outside the locker room between their coach and their own captain. Everyone fell quiet, trying to understand the words muffled by doors and walls.

Sidney sounded pissed and before Duper could get out and check that they weren’t going to fight each other physically, their captain walked across the locker room doors. Zhenya didn’t look up, he was too busy looking at his stick, but he heard the stomping and the quiet calls from Duper that went ignored.

(Kuni caught Sid’s face and he understood the redness as frustration, instead of what it really was.)

Zhenya saw Matt touching the A on his chest, lost in his own thoughts, as if he wasn’t sure why it suddenly weighted more than it did the last times he had wore it.

They listened to Sullivan for a few minutes before the game, telling them with a calm voice that they should get their _fucking_ heads out of their _fucking_ assholes because they wouldn’t accomplish anything if they kept losing. Zhenya couldn’t blame him, he was frustrated to the team, and it was more obvious with the line changes.

The roar of the crowd soothed Zhenya’s mind and, when his skates hit the ice, his thoughts were manageable and were almost forgotten in the back of his head.

He leaned over for the faceoff; saw Nicklas’ eyes and his mind was fully on the game.

Zhenya was giving everything he could, for his team, for the fans, and maybe, _just maybe_ , for Sid.

Even when he couldn’t distinguish the people sitting on the press boxes in the highest part of the stadium, he could feel (or maybe he wanted to imagine) Sidney’s eyes fixed on him, staring at his seventy-one.

If anything, that game was weird: pucks were bouncing in ways than even the goalies were starting to get nervous, weird penalties that the referees weren’t even sure if they could get called that, the lights flickering even when the sky outside was clear. It felt as if Consol was also feeling the unbalance on the team –and Zhenya felt a chill running through his spine just with the idea of the center knowing, or worse, _feeling_.

They were tied and that was only because two of their own goals and one from the Capitals were called off, and the bench was starting to heat up in the middle of the third. Zhenya now could expect anything–

Well, being blindsided wasn’t on the list.

He hit his stick against the ice, calling the play from Olli, telling him that he was open, that he was open, that–

It hurt. The contact of the shoulder to his head was painful and Zhenya just wanted to fall, to fall, to–

 

Zhenya jolted out of his bed, the same feeling you have when you’re asleep and you feel like falling. He looked around, bewildered, and noticed that this was his house, his bedroom, his bed. Taking a few deep breaths, sat down on bed and pressed his palms on his eyes. He did notice that Sidney wasn’t on his side.

Maybe everything was a dream? The game, the fight… maybe that was what it was, just a dream.

He took his phone, to check the hour, and realized that it was way early than usual. Before he could start to think about the day, he frowned and unlocked his phone once again.

The phone lighted up and a picture of Sidney and himself was his background.

Something inside of him made him feel that it was there because it _belonged_ there. It was kitchen he didn’t recognize, both of them wearing dark suits. Sidney was sitting on the counter while Zhenya was standing beside him, on his right. Sid’s arm was thrown around Zhenya’s shoulders, his lips pressed against his cheek but there was obviously a smile forming there. Zhenya’s smile was wide, his arms crossed over his chest.

For some reason he knew that Taylor took the photo but it wasn’t that what made him feel weird.     

They looked happy.

Then, he noticed it. On Sidney’s left hand, there was a gold ring and, as if it was a habit, Zhenya’s hand went to his necklace and right there, he felt his own ring hanging on the gold chain.

He googled his name and nothing came back, he wasn’t out and he wasn’t dating anyone, but after a quick scan of his camera roll and his text messages, it was obvious that he was dating Sid, that he married Sid (maybe it was just between them and their families?), that he was in _love_ with Sid.

Zhenya had to let out a gasp not because he was surprised, he _knew_ he loved Sid.

It surprised him because it was like he forgot how it felt like.

(After so many days unable to sit down and have a proper conversation, where just carrying their relationship felt more like a chore than a pleasure, remembering that you love someone it’s almost earth-shattering).

The front door opening and closing downstairs startled him. He frowned when he heard a soft whistle and Zhenya walked to the bottom floor slowly, as if he wasn’t sure what he would encounter.

A sweaty Sidney was standing in the kitchen, house keys on the counter, drinking a Gatorade and trying to look at his phone at the same time. He looked relaxed and Zhenya just stared.

When he saw Zhenya appear, the smile that appeared on his face was something Zhenya had never seen, or had seen but never directed at him. “Hey, did I wake you up?” he let out, almost breathless. “I ran into Mario, he was going out with the kids. He says hi and invited us for dinner tomorrow, so we should–” Sidney stopped talking when Zhenya’s hands pressed on his sweaty cheeks, holding him there. Zhenya drank the sight in front of him and leaned before pressing his own lips against Sidney’s.

The kiss was just like the picture, his lips _belonged_ there.

He wanted to cry. He had missed this terribly.

When they pulled away, Zhenya opened his eyes and his heart skipped a beat or two when he saw Sidney’s eyelashes flutter and his eyes looking up at him. “What was that for?”

“Need reason to kiss?” he let out, stumbling sleepily on his own words but Sidney giggled, before leaning in again, teasing him before pressing a sloppy kiss on the corner of Zhenya’s mouth.

“I love you,” Sidney mumbled, as if it was saying it to himself more than announcing it. “C’mon, let’s get a shower, we have to come in early today, remember?”

“Together?” Zhenya purred, his hands wandering under Sidney’s sweaty shirt, the intention of getting it off was pretty obvious and Sidney giggled again, pressing himself closer to him. He shrugged before digging his fingers into Zhenya’s shirt and pulling him towards the stairs.

Zhenya was happy.

After the shower, Zhenya got Sidney under him: pale skin under him with fading bruises and dark freckles, marks that were more Zhenya’s than anything else, and he just loved. He loved how soft Sid’s skin was under his fingers, how sensible where those soft spots that Zhenya will always remember to touch to the point that Sid would laugh loudly and it would echo on their bedroom and–

And then he remembered when the idea of _why we even started this_ went through his head.

He just stayed there, tearful eyes observing how Sidney’s cheeks were bright and how his eyes were half open, dazed but full of love, and Zhenya simply understood that there’s going to be bad days, bad slumps in their relationship, but they had to talk it out, had to be together to push forward their relationship, their team.

For a moment, he wanted to say _I love you_ but the words got stuck on his throat.

Even after all those years together, Zhenya had never told Sid that he loved him, even when he had felt overwhelmed by the feeling. There were moments where he wanted to mumble it to him, to whisper it into his ear (after winning the Cup, once and _twice_ ), to yell it at him before they could start fighting as if it was a reminder that they were stronger than that, than a simple and stupid discussion–

He was afraid of doing so, because it would made him vulnerable, it would probably make Sidney notice that he could do better, all of them were stupid reasons surrounded by his own insecurities, but he really wanted, he wanted to say it every morning and every night and at every loss and at every win and–

“ _Evgeni_ ,” Sid called and Zhenya’s heart wanted to burst out of his chest because, how he ever thought about leaving _him_? How he even doubted that _this_ man wasn’t the love of his life?

Zhenya’s answer was to kiss him back.

It made him feel weird seeing the locker room the same as it was on his dream (was it really a _dream_?), Flower sitting on his stall with Tanger on his side, Bonino talking with Duper, Phil with Hags and Horny. It was strange, now having Sidney shooting warm smiles at him.

The game was the same.

Nicklas’ eyes were on him at the faceoff and the weird things were happening _again_.

He hit his stick against the ice _again_ , as if it was some sort of weird déjà vu, calling the play from Olli _again_ , telling him that he was open _again_ , that he was open, that he–

It hurt, _again_. The contact of the shoulder to his head was painful, he heard Sid yelling from the bench and Zhenya didn’t want to fall, Sid, he didn’t–

 

Zhenya jolted out of his bed, the same feeling you have when you’re asleep and you feel like falling. He looked around and Zhenya was staring at the idea that he, in fact, went crazy. He left out a soft laugh because, well, Sidney has always been the one with head problems and _he_ was the going crazy? It was ridiculous.

Everything was the same on his bedroom; he still had the picture on his phone and the cold space in Sid’s side of the bed. But he kept noticing the empty spaces of where things used to be: the space on Sidney’s night table where his books where, the first drawer empty but the second drawer full as if someone just took everything out, the spaces between Zhenya’s shoes where Sidney’s where.

That made him thought that maybe they broke up.

Zhenya wanted Sid to come through the door, whistling at him, smile on his face as soon as Zhenya appeared on his line of vision. Yet, at the same time, it was possible that Sidney returned home just to take everything he had on Zhenya’s house and leave.

Or for Sidney to appear from somewhere on the house, for them to feel tense and probably wanting to scream and yell at each other, but Zhenya knew better now. He learned from his mistakes.

And maybe if he didn’t, if they indeed started screaming and wondering if this relationship was the right idea, Zhenya wouldn’t let Sidney walk out the front door, he wouldn’t go and hide in the backyard, he would turn around and look him straight in the eye, even if that meant crying right in front of him.

He took a shower, made breakfast and then decided to wait for Sid to make his appearance.

(A text, a call, any sign of him at all).

It was almost time to go to the rink when Zhenya decided to stop waiting.

He didn’t worry about Sidney more than he worried about what happened between them. He was getting all his things when he took his phone out and shot a text to Sidney’s number, a string of eyeless smiles and silly emojis, asking him if they were going to see each other at the rink.

Sidney didn’t answer.

Once again, the locker room was the same, but the feeling was… _off_.

The team’s eyes were falling on him, and they greeted him with welcome backs that he wasn’t sure what were about. He felt fine and he wasn’t returning from an injury- maybe it was a prank? Still, he didn’t ask. He was inside of his own head for the most part, looking at the main door to catch Sid walking in at any moment. When he looked up at Matt sitting down on his stall next to his, Zhenya’s eyes got a glimpse of Sidney’s stall.

There was another name on there.

He _froze_. His eyes kept going from the numbers to the last letter of a name he couldn’t even recognize. Not a few seconds later someone entered, cheerful, saying hello here and there, and sat down on Sid’s stall. He didn’t even recognize the face but when he tried to search the C on the jersey he was putting on, he didn’t find it.

Soon enough, his eyes wandered over the room and found Kuni’s chest filled with it. The A that he had been wearing for years suddenly turned into a C that Zhenya couldn’t help to think that it was wrong, not because he didn’t deserve it or he wasn’t worth it, but because it was Sid’s right now, _where was Sid_?

With shaking hands he took his phone out, his thumbs hovering over the lock screen, as if he was afraid.

“Hey Geno,” Duper sat down where Matt was moments ago, a hand on his shoulder. “Are you feeling okay for today’s game? We will understand if you aren’t ready.”

And Zhenya wanted to let out a no, I’m not, where’s Sid, where’s _Sid, who’s that guy, why is Kuni wearing Sid’s C, where’s Sid, where’s_ \- His thoughts were broken by Hags and Horny manhandling Phil onto the floor with tickles but this time, neither Flower nor Tanger laughed.

The soft smile that Zhenya saw on the elder’s face wasn’t what made his stomach turn, but the A that was now on Duper’s jersey. “It’s good seeing them laugh again, you know? After everything that happened.” His hand was now on Zhenya’s nape. “We’ll play our hearts out tonight, for our captain.”

Zhenya just nodded and gave Duper a smile that could probably be seen as a sad smile instead of a confused one. Duper left to sit down next to Olli, who was talking softly with Muzz, frown deep on his face.

He typed his password on his phone and searched his own name.

The Google box told him that he _is_ a Russian professional ice hockey player and alternate captain for the Pittsburgh Penguins, and he knew that yes, that was right.

He searched other guys around him, like Duper ( _is_ a Canadian professional ice hockey player and _alternate captain_ for the Pittsburgh Penguins–), Tanger ( _is_ a Canadian professional ice hockey player defenseman _currently_ playing for the Pittsburgh–), Kuni ( _is_ a Canadian professional ice hockey player who serves as _captain_ of the–), then he just typed _Sidney Crosby_ quickly on the search bar before it could even complete itself.

His stomach dropped as soon as he dared to focus on the words in front of him.

He read that Sidney _was_ a Canadian professional hockey player, who _was_ the captain of the Pittsburgh Penguins, who _had_ won two Stanley Cups and several other trophies, who _had_ led the Canadian Hockey Team to many wins, _was_ the best hockey player along with–

Everything was in _past_ sentence.

Sidney’s birthday was there and under, his death date, and Zhenya noticed it wasn’t even a few months since it happened. He blinked a few times, trying to push away the tears but he couldn’t because Sidney was dead, _dead_? Under the read more there were blue links like _Early Life_ , _Career_ , and Zhenya felt himself go white when he read _Health issues_ and _Death_.

He locked his phone, screen going black, because he couldn’t dare to read more.

Knowing that Sidney died made something inside of him remember every single little thing about him.

No more anymore inside jokes or dorky laughs, no more routines with pb&j at five, taping his stick the same way. No more screaming _skate, skate_ over a loud crowd, no more Stanley Cups together, no more playing against each other wearing their country’s uniforms proudly, no more mischievous smiles on the ice.

No more early mornings with sunlight bathing Sidney’s face, eyes looking at him with love or with sadness or with anger but always beside him, close and personal. No more furtive kisses, no more wordless goodbyes or hellos after the summer, no more soft touches wondering over dark and deep bruises. No more sideway smiles when Zhenya stumbles upon his words after he kisses him, no more unspoken _I love yous_ hidden under _best player, best captain_ in front of the media.

He never got to tell Sidney he loved him–

(Sidney died without knowing that Zhenya loved him, loved him to earth and beyond unknown galaxies. Sidney died knowing that he said _I love you_ s that Zhenya didn’t say back. He died, he died, he–)

There was no more Sidney.

Coach Sullivan came in, calling everyone to be ready for the warm up.

He got close to Zhenya’s stall and asked him if he was feeling alright to play tonight. He looked at his coach’s face for a moment and nodded, telling him that he was going to play tonight, he was going to play his best.

Zhenya stood up and put his phone away on the compartment where his gloves and his helmet were. He was trying to process the information, thinking just about how moments before he had Sid under his lips, under his fingers, how not long ago he had him on his face, screaming and telling him to fuck off.

He remembered the picture on his phone and stopped short, one hand on his gloves.

His hands were shaking by the time he felt the ring hanging on his chain.

More so, the _rings_. 

He got out of the locker room as fast as he could, following some of the guys, his legs almost failing him. When he made it to the bench, the other guys out and warming up, he looked up, beyond the people, beyond the jumbotron, beyond the cables, and right there where he expected it, there it was.

The eighty-seven was hanging there, proudly, gold background and black letters, stunning against Lemieux’s sixty-six and the Cup banners. It stood out from the others and it made Zhenya’s heart sink because it probably meant something different than just retiring his number.

He hadn’t even made it when someone bumped into him, colors bright under the many lights.

“I miss him, too,” Daley mumbled, looking up too, leaning on his stick. “We all do. You’re not alone, G.”

Daley skated away, receiving a puck from Bonino, and left Zhenya to his own thoughts.

He warmed up but he was sure he probably looked lost on his own home rink. The gold and black around him made him feel dizzy, his eyes still searching for an eighty-seven that wasn’t on the ice but above.

Soon enough, a white colored jersey bumped into him. Nicklas’ green eyes were sharp and Zhenya almost hated him for a moment, when he caught a glimpse of worried on them. “ _Are you going to play your best tonight_?” He asked in Russian, hesitating in a heavy accent, “ _Because you know_ he _doesn’t like easy wins_.”

Zhenya didn’t answer but Nicklas just skated away, without saying anything else.

When the game started, not even the roar of the crowd could sooth Zhenya’s thoughts.

He saw Nicklas’ eyes on the faceoff and, once again, Consol was mocking at them.

In the middle of the third, he hit his stick against the ice, calling the play from Olli, and for a moment he just wanted to stop, he wanted to stop and freeze and not skate anymore because the hit was coming, it was–

But he kept skating even knowing the hit was coming because he didn’t want to live in a world where Sidney died, he died so young and with so many things to prove, to live, and–

It came and it hurt. He felt his mind shook inside his skull and he was falling, falling, fall–

 

Zhenya jolted out of his bed, the same feeling you have when you’re asleep and you feel like falling.

He just lied there, not moving, almost afraid of doing so.

There wasn’t a movie that had a similar plot?

He sat down, feeling himself shaking and cold sweating from the- what the fuck it was if it wasn’t a dream? Zhenya’s stomach was doing twirls and jumps that made him feel sick.

His phone almost fell from his hand as soon as he unblocked it: the picture wasn’t there anymore.

After a few minutes of hesitation, he googled his name and everything was okay –he wasn’t sure why he was googling himself, maybe to know that he was indeed alive and not a ghost stuck in his own nightmare? It told him the same as before, that he _is_ a Russian professional ice hockey player and captain of the Pittsburgh Penguins, and he knew that yes, that was right.

He searched for Sidney’s name. Zhenya was expecting the search to tell him that Sidney was dead, that he died horribly, that he got a major injury and couldn’t play anymore, he was expecting anything. Google threw a few pages but never mentioned a hockey player, there weren’t pictures of him, pages about his stats or news articles –it was like Sidney had never existed in first place.

Zhenya then realized that _he was_ the captain.

Fuck, he was the captain? Sidney didn’t _exist_?

He paced around his bedroom after spending a few minutes trying to control his breathing and his heart. He was mad and this was just a nightmare, an endless nightmare. Even when the idea of him staying there, _safe_ , letting everything happen around him, he didn’t want to live in a universe where Sid didn’t _exist_.

Entering to the locker room knowing that he was the captain had a different feel to it and he now, maybe, understood how Sidney felt –and it felt heavy, heavier than the alternates’ responsibilities. The pressure and the need to keep the head high, to give hope to the team, was already settling on his shoulders.

He walked a bee line to his stall, without making too much fuzz with the team, and stopped short when he noticed that another name was there but his. Zhenya knew to turn around and look at Sid’s stall… just where his own number and name where.

It felt wrong, seeing the locker room from that angle.

Everything was on the same place but at the same time it wasn’t.

Tanger and Flower looked tired, sitting next to each other without talking. Duper was there, but this time it wasn’t Bonino and Zhenya wondered what happened with him. Horny and Hagelin were shooting glares at each other from the other side of the room, with no Phil in between them. It wasn’t Mike Sullivan or Dan Bylsma who walked to talk to them, but other coach that Zhenya barely recognized. He knew his name was something like a type of pasta, but he couldn’t remember it for his life.

When they got out of the locker room, he walked behind everyone, and it felt wrong knowing that the eighty-seven had never walked in front of him, not once in his life.

During warm ups, Zhenya noticed someone staring from the other side and, after looking up, he saw it was Nicklas. Zhenya didn’t know too much about him besides what Sasha told him but something on his eyes, something on his fucking eyes told him that he was the one doing this. 

He bumped into Nicklas, harder than needed, and grabbed his arm. “Stop this.”

Nicklas had a serious face, but there wasn’t confusion on his face. “I’m not doing anything.”

“You are,” Zhenya told him and shook his arm, feeling various curious eyes falling on them. “Stop, _please_.”

“ _I’m not doing anything_ ,” he repeated it in Russian, the heavy accent that Zhenya recognize. “I gave you advice, you didn’t listen?” There was a weird sincerity slipping through his slow words and Zhenya wondered if he talked to Sasha in Russian to convince him to do anything or to get him on his right mind. “ _I’m sorry_.”

Before Zhenya could apologize, he felt Kuni and Duper’s hands pulling him away of Nicklas.

The game started minutes later and Nicklas’ eyes were looking back at him, sharper than ever.

It was tiring playing a game over and over again knowing what was going to happen.

Zhenya was becoming tired of waiting for the middle of the third period for the hit to come and–

Every time it came it hurt, not as much as when he injured his knee but fuck, it hurt, it hurt, he fell and–

 

Zhenya jolted out of his bed, the same feeling you have when you’re asleep and you feel like falling. Then, as if he was actually waking up from a dream, he remembered something.

Every faceoff, he saw Nicklas’ eyes, but not a few feet away, there was someone who was watching them carefully. There was someone who had been delivering the hit over and over again and he knew, Zhenya knew who those eyes belonged to, the way the hit came, the way that player moved–

 _Fucking_ Alexander Ovechkin.

“ _It’s too early, Zhenya_ ,” was the first thing that Sasha said when he answered Zhenya’s call.

“ _Who taught you to do magic? Stop killing Sid_.” Maybe it was the shakiness on his voice, the _I’m at the verge of tears_ tone that he had, that made Sasha laugh loudly. “ _I’m going to kill you myself_.”

“ _I’m not killing him, stop being so dramatic_.” Sasha replied and shushed someone, tenderly and almost loving, in the other side of the line before talking again.

Zhenya huffed before sitting on the edge of the bed. “ _I’m living a nightmare, Sasha._ ”

There was silence of the other side of the phone, and then a soft click, like a door closing. _“Don’t lose yourself, Zhenya, that could be dangerous.”_  

“ _You’re the one who got me here_!”

“ _Shh_ ,” Sasha shushed him now, not lovingly. “ _Have you told him you love him_?” Zhenya opened his mouth to say something before stopping himself because no, he hasn’t. “ _I gave you an opportunity the first time and you blew it_ ,” he told him a few moments later when Zhenya replied. “ _Then, I showed you what you could miss.”_

“ _And you killed Sid_.”

“ _That was only once_ ,” he giggled as if he was a small child. “ _I’ll stop if you tell him_.”

“ _How do you even know I love him_?”

Sasha sighed. “ _Are you serious? Get your head out of your ass. Waiting for someone to tell you that they love you back is a torture. You love him more than you can put into words, I know you._ ”

“ _I know, I know_.” Zhenya was quiet for a moment. “ _Why are you doing this_?”

“ _I dislike when you don’t play your best_ ” and Zhenya sighed, remembering Nicklas own words about how certain _someone_ didn’t like when he didn’t play his best. “ _And someone put me into this nightmare, too_.”

“ _Yeah?”_ Sasha huffed and Zhenya blinked a few times before asking again. “ _Who did you tell_ –?”

“ _Goodbye, Zhenya, don’t fuck it up_.”

Entering to the locker room was not that weird, this time around.

He had his stall right where it always has been, the guys were talking around, there wasn’t a feeling of sadness or tension hanging around them and Zhenya wasn’t wearing the C. Well, Kuni had it on his chest and there was another guy who he didn’t recognize on Sid’s stall.

Yet, he could ignore that. Knowing that this was the last time reliving everything.

Zhenya just wanted to go home, go home to Sidney.

When they went out on the ice to warm up, Zhenya caught a familiar number on the other side of the rink.

The moves, the skating, the way he shot the puck, they were all familiar to Zhenya.

Zhenya cursed Sasha under his breath when he saw Sidney’s soft face under the white visitor helmet that was part of the Capitals’ uniform. He caught Sidney’s eyes for a moment before he was being bumped by Orpik, both of them laughing at something he had said.

For a moment, Zhenya found himself staring to an old memory, back when Brooksy was a Penguin instead of an alternate for the Caps. Sidney wearing different colors that wasn’t gold and black or the Canadian red, was very unsettling and Zhenya didn’t want to relieve it again.

Sasha smiled widely at him, hand on the small of Sidney’s back and Zhenya hated him.

On the faceoff, he found Nicklas’ eyes and this time he caught Sidney’s eyes on the other side.

He was finishing this now, and he was doing it playing against Sidney.

Consol was being weird around them, just this time Zhenya knew that it wasn’t the Center who was mocking them, but Sasha’s weird magic aura that was making everything work the way it wasn’t. Zhenya was now expect anything–

Maybe being blindsided was on the list but not on this way.

He was skating with the puck before shooting to Tanger, who was open, and just where the puck was moments ago, Sidney was now there.

(Zhenya thought for a moment that he hit him, he hit Sidney someone and had hurt him–

Sidney wasn’t there, exactly.

Lifeless, bloody, wide eyed, pale, not Sid but just a _body_.)

He stopped frantically, his heart skipping one or two beats, and then the hit came.

Zhenya knew that this wasn’t Sasha but TJ Oshie who collided with him. The seventy-seven had been behind him all play and he wasn’t expecting Zhenya to stop short without a reason. This time, it wasn’t the contact of his shoulder against Zhenya’s face but just full on body against his back, pushing both of them down.

In a blink of an eye, he was suddenly falling, and at the other, he was already on the ice, on the other side of the rink. He blinked a few times, feeling the cold irradiating under him hitting his bare cheek and he wondered when he lost his helmet. His eyes tried to do his best to search for Sid along the ice (his body, him wearing a Capitals jersey) but soon enough, there was their trainer on his face, asking him questions, gloved hand on the back of Zhenya’s neck.

His mind kept repeating Sidney’s name but his mouth mumbled answers to Chris’ questions.

Everything was muffled and slower around him but he knew this wasn’t how a concussion felt.

He got off the ice with some help, Tanger on one side and Kuni on the other.

When they were helping him up, Zhenya caught a glance at Kuni and he blinked a few times trying to figure out if that was really an A what was sewn on his teammate’s jersey.

After walking out of the rink, the sounds of the crowd and the stadium drown away. He let the trainers and the doctor check everything, from ribs to a concussion, and he knew that he wouldn’t be returning to the game since it was almost finishing and they wanted to make sure that he was actually alright.

Walking into the locker room, he didn’t expect that sight.

Sidney was sitting on his stall, wearing his suit, just like he was… before? He’s not even sure.

Sid didn’t notice him coming in, eyes fixed on his phone but his thumbs not moving, either lost in something on his phone or not thinking of anything at all, and Zhenya took a moment to observe him in silence.

The anger wasn’t there anymore and Zhenya himself couldn’t feel it on his system either. He was sure it slipped away when he thought that Sidney died, and if that didn’t do it, it was probably the idea of Sidney not existing at all.

Zhenya knew that this was the man he loved, the man he wanted to spend hours and days and weeks and months and years with, on and off the ice, the man he wanted to win cups with and prove everyone wrong, as long as he would have him. He felt vulnerable for a moment, wearing only his under armor, jersey on his hand, his bulky pants and the skates; he wanted to feel like that, he wanted to be like this so Sidney would believe him, would feel the honesty on his words, after all this time.

Sidney looked up and smiled, relief washing on his face, and Zhenya smile back.

When Zhenya opened his mouth to speak, to say that he loved him, he saw how Sidney’s face changed to sudden horror and got up to hold him, and why was Sid holding him, why Zhenya’s face felt wet, why he was tasting blood, why he was on his back, why there were trainers and doctors on top of him, why he felt the need to kill Sasha, why there was a warm hand on his, why he couldn’t speak, why, why, why–

 

Zhenya jolted out of his bed, the same feeling you have when you’re asleep and you feel like falling.

He looked around the room in silence, noticing the morning light coming in softly through the curtains that he forgot to close last night. From the other side of the bed came a gentle snore, Zhenya turned quietly and saw Sidney was there, sleeping with his back at him.

There was a moment where he was afraid of moving, of taking his eyes way from Sidney’s sleeping form: he still could see his lifeless body burned into his mind. Yet, there was. Sidney’s hard expression went away when he was sleeping, his soft breathing melting away all the pressure he had been carrying on his shoulders since the moment he stepped into a hockey rink.

“Sid,” Zhenya found himself calling him, not above a whisper. He started to trail down kissed on his shoulder and arm, hand founding his way towards Sidney’s waist. “ _Sid_.”

He woke up slowly, taking a deep breath before blinking away and turning on his back to look at Zhenya.

“G? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Sidney was already on his elbows, looking worriedly at him, even when he was still half asleep and Zhenya’s heart just wanted to burst out of his chest with endearment –he loved Sidney too much. Zhenya was now sitting, looking at Sidney’s worried eyes in silence. 

“ _I’m sorry_ ,” he apologized on his own native tongue without thinking. Even when he knew that their real discussion didn’t really happen, he still wanted to apologize for it; Zhenya didn’t want to think of them as orbiting planets on the way to collision anymore, he wanted to be the moon to Sidney’s earth, and not something on his path. “Very sorry, Sid, the fight, don’t mean things I say and–”

“I know.” Sidney took a deep breath and moved to lean on the headboard, a soft smile blooming on his face. “I didn’t mean anything either. I’m sorry, too.” They looked at each other for a moment before Zhenya nodded and leaned in, pressing a warm kiss on Sidney’s lips. Sidney’s hand found their way to Zhenya’s hair, and there wasn’t really a need to move this to another level, right now Zhenya just wanted to know that Sidney was there and wasn’t going anywhere.

“I love you,” he mumbled between kisses, his own hands finding Sidney’s skin under his shirt, warm to the touch. Before he could repeated it again, Sidney moved away and pressed his forehead against Zhenya’s, as if he was trying to catch his breath. “Sid?”

Sidney’s hands moved to Zhenya’s neck and pushed him away.

At some point he had been afraid of acknowledging that he had made the love of his life cry, but now he knew that those tears were his fault and Zhenya was happy, because Sidney was smiling brightly at him, tearful light brown eyes looking back at him.

“You do?” He asked, as if he couldn’t really believe him.

When they started dating, Sidney told him that there was no pressure; he told him he would wait, for him he would wait years and all eternity if he needed to. Yet, of course, hearing it for the first time was something that Sidney wasn’t probably expecting to wake up to.

(Maybe it was also the feeling that Sidney had been carrying all these days: the idea of them drifting away, of losing the one he loved the most, the losses weighting on his shoulders, the C weighting on his chest, the media talking about him and asking him rude questions that he couldn’t just brush them away.)

“Yes, Sid, I love you.” Zhenya was smiling back, moving to sit closer to Sidney, who just wrapped him into a hug, pressing his face Zhenya’s neck, laughing and crying at the same time. “Stop, Sid, eyes go red and team blame me for making captain cry.”

Sid just laughed and moved away, soft thumbs caressing Zhenya’s stubble, his wet laugh echoing louder on their bedroom, smiling at him on the way that he only reserved for him and–

Zhenya was happy.

“I love you, too,” Sidney whispered.

Zhenya’s answer was to kiss him back.

This time, the locker room felt _good_.

Flower was more focused on talking with Tanger than shooting sharp glances at Zhenya and he was glad. Everyone else was right there, just like he knew they were. Phil was talking to Hags and Horny under the doorway towards the office, only to moments later found himself on the floor with two Swedes on top of him, laughing loudly. Bonino was with Duper, stick on his hand, before laughing too at the sight in front of them.

Sidney was sitting on his stall, gearing up, and Zhenya kept shooting glances at him, half smiles that were only theirs. His captain kept rolling his eyes but the soft flush on his cheeks never went again completely.

Coach Sullivan came in and gave them a talk and, if Zhenya could give him an award for it, he would. He felt so pumped, too geared up for this game, and the feeling around the locker room was the same. The cheers when the starting line got announced was loud, they were there to _win_.

On the warm ups, they were flying, both the team and the pucks. There wasn’t the weird sensation that was before, that Zhenya lived over and over again, and when he turned to observe the other side of the rink, Zhenya found Sasha and Nicklas leaning on the boards of the bench, talking to each other.

Sasha caught him looking and both of the Capitals gave him a smile, as if they knew.

(Zhenya smiled back, knowing now that the smiles that Sasha reserved for Nicklas were somewhat similar to the smiles that Sidney reserved only for him. He smiled back, as if he knew.)

Zhenya did the handshake with Sidney when walking outside to the rink and their eyes lingered a few seconds on each other’s faces, a secret hidden between their lips and the marks under their uniforms and on their skins. Walking with his eyes glued to the eighty-seven in front of him had never felt this good.

When Zhenya leaned over for the faceoff, he found Sasha’s blue eyes staring at him.

“ _Play your best_ ,” he mumbled in Russian.

“ _We are winning tonight_ ,” Zhenya replied and Sasha smiled wide.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. what's homophobic in this universe, this is a no hate au  
> 2\. also yes, magic is such a normal thing??? who cares  
> 3\. the title comes from the argetinian movie of "el secreto en sus ojos" that didn't really inspired this plot-wise but it's pretty good and you fall in love pretty easily
> 
>  
> 
> very spooky [tumblr](http://speaksarcastically.tumblr.com/)!


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